Sightless
by Linsneakers
Summary: They were going to have to remember that they were merely men, and they were going to have to remember that they were mortal. [There are two different teams, please think about that before telling me I "got them wrong", thank you.]
1. Chapter 1

Sightless

Stationed in this war almost an entire year, fourteen hours each day-nearly every damn day, he _still_ wasn't used to staring down the barrel of a gun. He swallowed the lump in his throat as he eyed the shotgun, before glancing at the man holding it to his face.

"Go on, put the case down, boy," the Engineer sighed, scratching the back of his head with his free hand. "There's sentries behind me. I'm givin' ya a chance, kid. Hand over the intelligence and turn around."

The Scout frowned, eyeing the gun again, fingers twitching on the straps around his shoulders to help carry the case. He was silent for a moment, before he raised an eyebrow and a cocky grin.

"You do know how to pull a trigger, right, hardhat?" he scoffed, gesturing with his hands, "I mean it ain't that hard! All you do is squeeze the thing and BAM! There goes my skull! Brains and blood and bone splattered all across the wall while you get your pretty little intelligence back without any worries. Hakuna matata." He shrugged, folding his hands behind his head, "I mean, we ARE in a warzone here. 'Cept we got a respawn! Bam! Dead and then you're back like voodoo magic! Did ya forget..." he trailed off, rubbing his chin quizzically, "...or are you a new hardhat or somethin'?"

The Scout swore he saw the Engineer's eyes roll in exasperation from behind the tinted goggles. "I've been here for three years, boy. Pullin' a trigger was just never my thing," he said, a smirk embellished on his face, "that's why I build machines to do it for me."

Before the younger man could get a word in, the sound of static and electricity echoed down the hallway. Cursing, the Engineer's face paled as he quickly turned to look down the corner, before focusing his gaze back at the Scout.

Scout smirked, shoving his thumbs in the edges of his pockets and swaying lightly on one heel. "Three years and you _really _suck at respondin' to spies."

The Texan snarled, opening his mouth to retort, only to cry out a strained scream as a knife drove its way into his back.

"Hey, thanks for that, rookie!" Scout laughed, saluting as he stepped over to the corpse, watching as the man decloaked, brushing off his suit before retrieving his knife.

"Rookie?" the man scoffed, playful grin on his face, muttering Italian under his breath before glancing up with an accusing eyebrow, "I was not the one standing around bantering with the enemy."

Scout shrugged. "He starte-"

The men turned at the cries from the hallway behind the Scout. There were calls of 'who was watching the intelligence', 'who the fuck was watching the intelligence', 'everyone on this team is a dummkopf', and so on so forth.

"Enjoy yourself, my friend." The man quickly whisked back into his cloak and the Scout rolled his eyes at the cocky footsteps that faded away. Looking back down the hall, the Boston kid sauntered over and peered around the corner, eyeing as the enemy Medic, Heavy and Spy argued amongst themselves, the Demoman sauntering off and swearing in the distance about how they never even saw the other team's intelligence.

Standing in the open, the Scout cocked his head to the side. The men were so absorbed they didn't even notice.

He whistled.

"Yo, fellas! I heard you were lookin' for me! Afraid I can't sign autographs today though, but I thought I'd let you get a glance at my beautiful face!" The men stared at him blankly, before yelling and readying their weapons. The Scout saluted and bolted down the hall before the Heavy picked his minigun up off the floor, dashing over the Engineer's corpse and flying through the room with the destroyed sentries. He glanced over his shoulder, laughing at the arguing he could barely hear that ran across the walls. Then he bumped into something.

Falling to the floor, the boy shook his head, blinking up at the Sniper who was swearing under his breath, half leaning out the window the Scout almost accidentally shoved him over. Scrambling to his feet, the Scout ran past, seething as a bullet lodged into his arm. Before rounding another corner, he called to the Australian.

"Learn to aim for the head, you kangaroo humpin' bastard!"

He heard the man yell back at him, but the Scout merely smirked and focused on where he was going this time. His ears twitched at the sound of footsteps rushing towards him, skidding on his heels as fire shot out from the corner. Flailing his arms, the boy gulped as the masked man stepped forward, fire still blazing. Oh crap-he could hear the others coming from the other hall. Oh crap-he was going to get blocked in. Oh crap-that fire was hot.

Sweat rolled down his face-both from the 'oh crap' factor and the fire. He was so close to getting out of the base too! This wasn't any fair. Stupid freakin gas-masks and their stupid freakin' creepiness. It was stupid and unfair. Pyro's were just cheap, man. Ruined the party for everyone. With their creepiness. And cheapness. 'Specially the creepiness. Ugh.

Just avoid the fire. Easy to do right? Not like he was in a tiny ass room with only one way to go now. Where was everyone else? Were they all outside just drinkin' some of Sniper's tea or somethin'? Jesus. If he died and lost the intelligence, this was all their fault and he had nothin' to do with it cuz they were the ones slackin' off! He'd been on fire this entire match, and now it was almost literally! Oh man, that was a close one.

It was only seconds, but adrenaline made it feel like hours as he tried his best to dance around the Pyro's continuous attacks. His hair and face and legs and arms and chest kept getting singed. He didn't know how he was doing it, but he was managing to avoid the brunt of the flames-but the goddamn Pyro wasn't moving from his spot, blocking the way out. If he ran back down the hall, he'd be greeted to a Heavy and a Medic. Stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Part of him just wanted to run down the hall to be mauled by the giant's minigun. It'd be a faster death than being burned alive.

"Really? _I'm_ the rookie?" A laugh rang out and the Pyro jumped, about to turn around before a knife was jammed into the back of his throat, the man dropping dead. The friendly Spy decloaked once more, grabbing his knife from the corpse. He took a few steps towards the other man, grinning ear-to-ear as he flicked a lightly scorched hair out of the Scout's face, "I just saved your ass twice now."

The Scout rolled his eyes, smirk on his face as he walked past the man, shoving him with his shoulder. "Yeah, well, a _good_ Spy doesn't have to dig his knife out of the body. It should just be a quick, clean kill."

"If blood doesn't reach the hilt, I say they're doing it wrong," Spy chuckled and clicked his tongue before turning on his cloak again. "I'll be there to save the day again, Princess."

"You're the worst Prince Charmin' I have ever seen, man."

"I guess it's a good thing I'm invisible."

"Yeah whatever." Scout looked over his shoulder as he heard the footsteps of the H-oh. There was the minigun turning around the corner-that was faster than he thought they'd get there. He felt his teammate run past him, and the Scout quickly followed. After an antagonizing strip of hallways and corners, he finally made it outside. It was getting really stuffy in that stupid place, it felt like everything was looking the same.

It was nice to have the sun on him.

He scanned the surrounding environment quickly before beginning his sprint across the battlefield. There was a flurry of bullets, rockets and explosions bombarding the field, dust and shrapnel flying at the boy as he ran, one hand tightly gripping onto the strap of the intelligence, his other hand blocking his face from the shell fragments. A bullet grazed his ear. His arm. His thighs.

Next thing he knew, something whacked the back of his knees and he was face down in the ground. Instinctively, he rolled onto his back and was about to jump back onto his feet, only to have his head being forcibly pushed down. His neck strained and bent to the edge of the intelligence chest, the Scout grabbing onto the other man's wrist, trying to pry him off. This only resulted in the assailant to dig their nails into his flesh. He grit his teeth and seethed in pain, before choking on his breath when the other man let go and elbowed him harshly in the ribs. He saw the silhouette of the enemy Scout before the man took out his pistol and pulled the trigger.

The world went white, and his body went frigid with an intense heat of surging pain. It coursed and curled and pricked through his veins, bones, skin, scraping and peeling and stabbing and stitching. His entire being was tense and overflowing with an overbearing flood of warmth and cold and pain. He took a shaky breath.

It was over.

Opening his eyes, he frowned at the sight of his team's spawning room. Man, he'd been so close, too. He glanced to the occupied bench nearby, tilting his head as he took a few steps forward at his teammate.

"Yo, man, you okay?" he asked, placing his hands on his hips. "You're not lookin' so good. Have you even left this room the entire match?"

The Engineer glanced at him. He looked exhausted, goggles resting around his neck, clothes put on haphazardly, hardhat nowhere to be seen. He was pale and dark bags were sleeping under his eyes. The man looked at the Scout for a moment, took a deep breath, and said nothing.

The Scout squinted. "...Nice talkin' with you, hardhat. Wonderful conversation," he mumbled, before taking his shotgun from off it's holster on his back and headed towards the door. He took another look at the man over his shoulder, who had slumped down the bench, before running back out to the field.


	2. Chapter 2

Sightless

Scout stretched, folding his hands behind his head, sprawling out in his seat. A smug grin grew on his face as he crossed one leg over the other, looking up when the others filed into the room, cheering and patting each other on the back. Medic stood with a sour look on his face, before sighing and shaking his head, stalking off to his room. Soldier and Engineer were missing, but he knew where the Soldier was-outside running laps. Engineer, he had no clue.

Spy smirked as he twirled on his heel, sitting next to the Scout on the couch, copying the younger man's pose in one fluid motion. The Bostonian pouted, before lazily dropping his hands to his side. He sighed and rolled his eyes as the Italian copied him.

"Are you my mirror now or somethin'?"

Spy smirked. "You should be glad I am. You get to see the most handsome reflection in the universe."

Scout rolled his eyes again, grabbing a part of the man's mask and snapping it. "I don't think I can count on just your word there."

"Ah, but you must!" he sobbed dramatically, grabbing the Scout's hand in his own, "For it is your destiny!"

"Did you hit your head or somethin' on the way back, man? Seriously." Retching his hand free, the men glanced at the other members of their team who had sat themselves in the break room. Sniper had sat next to the Spy, Heavy on a recliner, and Demoman and Pyro on the floor. Scout looked around the room, lifting himself a little off the chair, straining to look into the kitchen.

"What are you doing?" He turned to look at the Sniper, the blonde raising his eyes quizically.

"Hardhat ain't here. He wasn't lookin' too hot in the spawn room either." he huffed and flopped back into his seat, crossing his arms. "Surprised we never got our intelligence taken. We had no sentries."

Heavy shifted in his seat, "Ever since we got mail two weeks ago, I don't think he's slept."

"Nah." The Scotsman waved his hand dismissively, "I don't think the guy got much sleep in the first place."

"But he functioned at least," Scout mumbled, resting his head in his hands.

He could feel the Italian shrug. "I could cloak and go do my job. Spy. I can do that. It's in my description. Spying. That is a thing I do."

The Pyro's muffled speech responded next, motioning with his hands at the Sniper.

"Pyro says to leave him alone."

"Job description."

"He doesn't care," The Englishman sighed, rubbing his temples. "How about a subject change? I saw Engineer leave the match before it was done. He's probably in his room getting some sleep, just leave him alone."

Spy smirked. "You sound like a doting wife."

"I don't think you know what a dotin' wife sounds like." the Scout shook his head, before jumping out of his chair in sudden realization. "We won against the Red team!"

"Ye sure are slow, lad."

The Bostonian pouted again, lightly pushing the Demoman's face with his foot. In retaliation, Demoman pushed the Scout back, the younger man crashing to the floor on his back, whacking his head on the edge of the couch. He sat up and rubbed his head lightly, wincing as he looked at the Romanian who'd started talking.

"We haven't won in around two or three weeks," Heavy mused, a smile on his face. "It's nice."

The Sniper looked over his shoulder to the staircase, before turning back and sighing, "I'd say we should celebrate, but I doubt our grumpy medic over there would approve."

Scout's eyes widened and he looked at the blonde, staring at him in shock for what seemed like minutes. It took a moment before the Englishman looked down and annoyingly raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

The Bostonian continued to stare blankly at the man. "You said we should celebrate."

Sniper squinted, mouth twitching in disgust. "What in God's name do you mean by that?"

Another pout formed on the Scout's face, and he pointed accusingly at the blonde. "You know exactly what I mean! You're just as grumpy as the doc!"

There was a moment of silence. It filled and hugged the air for what felt like eons of time. The youngest finally lowered his arm, but the eye contact between the two men never faltered. There wasn't a moment of silence anymore, it was an eternity of silence. The two men didn't break eye contact, and the rest of the team fidgeted in their seats, the Demoman silently getting up and grabbing a drink from the kitchen before returning to his spot on the floor. He was smirking as he took a drink from his water, eyeing the scene.

Scout's mouth twitched. It felt like time had stopped. This was unnerving. Had the Sniper even blinked in however long they'd been staring at each other? This was creepy. He hadn't blinked, he was sure of it. After a chill went up the boy's spine, he shuddered and reluctantly looked away, twiddling his thumbs in his lap.

A few more silent seconds passed, before a chuckle enveloped the room, which slowly evolved into a laugh. The entire room eventually erupted in laughter, snorts and chuckles and clapping and recalling the event in a hysterical fit. The laughter ended with conversation about their exploits and failures in the match that day, which went well on into hours of the morning before most of the men retreated to their rooms, Scout, Spy and Pyro staying to watch whatever channel they could find on the battered TV.

Scout had sprawled himself on nearly the entirety of the couch, the Spy sitting at his feet, Pyro taking up residence on the recliner, paying more attention at setting the chair upright and reclining it than watching the movie. The Bostonian blinked tiredly at the screen, scowling.

"Man, what are we even watchin'?"

The Italian hummed, tapping his chin, "I believe it's a romantic comedy. Too bad I have no idea what's going on, so it's not very funny. Or romantic, for that matter."

"Well change it to somethin' we can understand then."

"I'm much too comfy to move. Pyro, would you mind?"

The duo glanced at the masked person, who stopped reclining the chair mid-way and looked back. There was another moment of silence before the unknown entity hopped off the chair and bounded up the stairs, slamming the room to his door shut.

Spy blinked before turning to the younger man, shrugging. "Guess that's a 'no'."

"Guess so."

They turned back to the TV, staring with feigned interest as the foreign language to the both of them rolled out of the speakers. The only thing Scout was able to muster up as maybe a plot for the flick was a man cheating on his girlfriend or wife, cheating on the woman he was cheating with, and cheating on that woman. Maybe. It was hard to tell. Was he the only man in this show? There didn't seem to be any other man that he could recall. Maybe the guy was the last man alive and had to repopulate the Earth, but the women didn't like that.

It was hard to tell.

"So..." the Spy started, twirling his finger in the air as he spoke. "How long has everyone been on this team?"

Scout shifted, using his elbows to prop him up and scoot himself back to hold himself in a half-lying, half-sitting position against the couch's armrest. He folded his arms and glanced at the ceiling, "Well, startin' with you, you've been here three weeks. Sniper and I've been here for a year. Demo said he's been here for around five. Heavy was... four, I think. Engie I think has been three years. Maybe. Soldier, I got no idea. I don't think the guy has any sense of time. Medic just says jackshit about anything personal. And Pyro, well..." He shrugged. "Pyro's Pyro and we got no idea. I can't read that hand language he and Crumpets do."

The Italian smirked. "I believe it's called 'sign language'."

"Yeah, whatever, they use their hands." He returned the smirk and laughed, "Hey, can't you understand 'em? I heard you guys talk with your hands all the time over there."

The man rolled his eyes, face suddenly turning solemn as his voice was piqued in dark curiosity as he asked, "What happened to the other Spy? What was he like?"

Scout let out a deep sigh, resting his hands under his head and lightly tapping his foot on the cushion. "Well... for starters, he kept to himself. He conversed and whatnot, but you just knew he was hidin' stuff and would sometimes just leave conversations when people were still talkin' to him. He was good at his job though, even though we didn't win much. He was sometimes the only reason we got close to it. Don't know how he did it, but he managed to turn off his respawn chip one night and just offed himself. In the kitchen. I wasn't the one to wake up to find the guy hangin' by a noose above the table-that was Hardhat."

"He didn't give any explanation why?"

"None at all. No note, and Miss Pauling told us he didn't send or receive anythin' from anybody. He just... did it."

"I see..." the Spy mumbled, staring at his folded hands in his lap. There was an uncomfortable silence before the man reached up and grabbed the ends of his mask. Scout jumped up, eyes wide with confusion.

"Woah woah woah, what're you doin'?!"

The man looked at him, also confused. "I'm not wearing the clothes some dead guy wore!"

Scout tilted his head and his face squished with even more confusion, "They didn't give you his outfit, dumbass! You got your own! He was like two feet taller than you, and he had a super huge head, man!"

Spy froze, blinked, and then rested his hands on his lap, giant grin on his face as he laughed, "Then I am perfectly fine wearing this outfit!"

The dark brunette dropped himself back to lying on the couch, lightly kicking the other man's shoulder with his foot before snickering, "You're a goddamn moron."


	3. Chapter 3

Sightless

He didn't even realize he'd fallen asleep until ice cold water was poured onto him. Yelping, the Bostonian jumped up, tripping over his feet at the sudden movement and falling onto the floor. He quickly rolled onto his back and shook his head, trying to glare at Soldier behind the couch, who was holding a bucket high above his head.

"The f-fuck was that for?!" he stammered, ringing out his shirt on the hardwood.

"YOU WOULD NOT WAKE UP!" the Chinese man belted, throwing the empty bucket at the Scout who squeaked and scampered to avoid it. "WE ARE MOVING TO ANOTHER LOCATION! GET YOUR SCRAWNY LITTLE LEGS WORKING AND GO UP TO YOUR ROOM AND PACK YOUR STUFF!"

The Bostonian sneered at the man as he stood, moving wet, dark bangs out of his face as he did. He looked down at himself and shook his hands, asking, "Can I at least take a hot sho-"

"NEGATORY!"

"Yeah, yeah, you can go shove that negatory up your ass, you no good..." he continued mumble under his breath, marching past the man and up the stairs to his room.

He paused at his door, before heading to the shared bathroom, ripping the towels off the bar and finally entering his room as he dried his hair, grumbling incoherent mundane threats at the Asian man downstairs. Locking his door, he quickly stripped and tossed the soaked clothing mindlessly onto the floor, drying himself off before opening his closet and changing into a fresh pair. He lazily folded and placed the wet clothes in the center of one towel and wrapped them up, flipped the towel around and placed it on the second towel he didn't use and wrapped that as well. He stretched and grabbed one of the suitcases at the foot of his bed, opening it and shoving the towel-wrap at the bottom, snatching the rest of his clothes from the closet and lazily folding and putting them in as well.

After closing the main part of the suitcase, he reached to his bedside table and opened the drawer, grabbing all his received letters and carefully putting them into the smaller junction. He shifted and grabbed his second case, opening it up and taking his Scattergun and regular pistol off the table, carefully putting the shotgun in the bigger section of the case and the pistol in the smaller, securing them with the built in straps. He grabbed his Sandman that had rolled under his bed and pushed it through the holes on the side of the case, tightening them up.

Aaaand where was the ball?

He quickly ducked down and looked under the bed once more. Wasn't there. Closet. Wasn't there. Somehow in the table drawer? Wasn't there. Under the pillow? Wasn't there. Scratching his head in confusion, he crawled around the floor, looking under the bed again. At different angles. He just wasn't looking at the right angle. That was it. Had to be there somewhere, nowhere else it could ha-

"Looking for something?"

He peered up from behind the bed, glowering at the Italian who was leaning against the doorframe, casually tossing the ball in the air and catching it.

"I locked the door."

"And I am a Spy. Job description."

"Being a Spy involves picklocking?"

The man grinned and rolled his eyes. "Well, duh," he scoffed, tossing the ball onto the bed, "Job description."

"Oh, shut up with your job description, will ya?" the Bostonian smirked, grabbing the ball and placing it in another part of the suitcase before zipping it up. He got to his feet and grabbed both his packs by the handles, glancing at the other. "Any idea where we're headed?"

The Italian shrugged, moving into the hall and heading down the stairs, Scout in tow. "Nah, no idea. Most of them are getting impatient waiting for you though."

"Well if someone hadn't doused me in ice cold water, I wouldn't have had to dry myself off and shit." He turned to the man and whined, "Why didn't you wake me up, man?"

"I tried! I pinched your arm."

"...Just that?"

"Yeah."

A look of exasperated defeat quickly spread on his features, and a sigh escaped his lips as they headed outside the homelier part of this base. Most of the team was standing outside the enormous RV, and some glanced in the duo's direction before hopping into the vehicle. Scout glanced through the driver's window, a chill shooting down his spine at the glare he could see the Medic giving him. He didn't need to be cold anymore aboard, he headed over to his favourite seat in the back, sliding his suitcases under the couch and closing the security gate that had been manually installed so their belongings wouldn't go flying.

He turned and jumped onto his seat, glancing at the Engineer who was sprawled out on another couch, curled up in blankets and arm covering his eyes. Scout tilted his head, eyeing as the last few team members walked on board, Heavy shutting and locking the door behind him.

"Is Hardhat terminally ill or somethin'?" he questioned, motioning at the dozing man. "Cuz seriously, he looks dead."

The Englishman cast him a glare before sitting on the couch opposite to the one the Texan was lying on. "Doc did a check up. He's just mentally and physically exhausted. Don't ask him why. And, I swear, if you two bloody plonkers bother him, I will throw you both in a walk-in freezer and lock the damn door."

Scout and Spy, who had sat next to the younger man as usual, eyed each other questioningly before turning back to the Sniper. There was another moment of silent staring before a snort fell from the Scout's nose.

"The fuck is a 'plonker'?"

"Ye see, lad, it-" Demoman started, stopping short as the glare was directed at him. He promptly closed his mouth and sat at the small table, fiddling with his thumbs.

"Everyone's back there, right?" the Medic called from the driver's seat, not even turning to check. "I _will_ leave people behind."

"WE ARE ALL ACCOUNTED FOR."

"Good."

The Pyro and Soldier hadn't sat down as the Medic immediately started the RV and gunned the gas. The Soldier toppled and fell on top of the masked man, the two yelling and screaming and fumbling around on the floor. The Bostonian and Italian snickered, causing the Soldier to yell furiously at them, the men coughing into their hands. It took a few moments before the two finally picked themselves up and sat themselves on the couch with Sniper.

Ten minutes of conversation passed, all about nothing and everything. Anything directed to the Medic was blatantly ignored. They didn't even know where the dark-blonde was from. He never made a reaction as they guessed in front of him. They knew where everyone else, sans the Pyro, was from, but they eventually stopped prodding him. Probably best not to bother their doctor. Especially when he was driving.

"So..." Scout piped up, clasping his hands as he gazed at his team, "where're we headed?"

"It is another Payload. Miss Pauling says we're headed to Badwater Basin," the olive-skinned Romanian commented.

Scout's eyebrows raised in surprise as he straightened in his seat. "Badwater Basin?" he repeated, watching as the Heavy nodded, "But I thought we blew that fuckin' place up a couple months ago!"

He received an unkowing shrug as his answer, and the boy huffed, crossing his arms. Did they rebuild it? Is that why there was that sudden week vacation the next day? Huh... well he could sure go for another weeks worth of a break, so this was good news!

Despite the possible good news, the boy pondered more about the various missions they've always been sent to go on.

"Does anyone know what's in their intelligence? Or ours?" The team turned to look at him, and he continued his thoughts, "I mean, we were never told what was in them, right? Did anyone ever look inside?"

Spy raised his hand. "I tried, but it seemed impossible to open. Even smashing it onto the desk didn't make a dent."

"Why the bloody hell would you smash it against the desk?"

"I was curious!"

The Sniper rolled his eyes. "We don't know, and we never will know. Once we get the intelligence, we send it to Miss Pauling to send to Blutarch. That's all there is to it. No need to question it."

"There is one thing that bothered me though," the Italian sighed, crossing one leg over his other. "Why keep the intelligence out in the open? Sure, the cases may seem impossible to open, but that's still no reason to go leaving it up for grabs. Why aren't they hidden away in a safe? As it is, we could drive to any place we want and just... take RED's intelligence. Earn us a little brownie points with Tarchy, maybe."

Another collective silence encumbered the air, the men all pondering and thinking.

"I said there was no need to question it, you plonker."

The Scout snorted again, "No, seriously, is that some sorta insult or somethin'? It's more hilarious then anythin'."

The light blonde grumbled under his breath and the conversation was over. More minutes passed, and the two youngest whined in exasperation of boredom before the doctor yelled at them to quiet the fuck up. They complied for thirty seconds before opening the window behind them, playing the most obvious and boring version of I-Spy. Not much to look at in a desert.

"I spy..."

"Sand."

"Yeah."

"I spy... a total dumbass."

"You spied a Spy?"

"I spied a Spy."

"You're the dumbass."

"Nah, I'm a beast of raw power and speed."

"Raw power would be Heavy. I'll hand you the speed though," the Italian hummed, before chuckling. "I take it back. I give myself the speedy title."

Scout looked at the man in disbelief, "You can't do that, man! You sure ain't faster than I am! I would kick your ass so fast in a race, I'd be runnin' circles around ya AND doing multiple laps before you even made it one lap!"

"Nah, I'm a siberian rocket cheetah."

"...A what?"

The Italian proceeded to give out a speech, the others silently listening and shaking their heads in dismay. Their previous Spy would have never been this carefree.

"...and that's how I'm a siberian rocket cheetah."

"No, you're not. You're an Italian dumbass."

"Takes one to know one."

"I've never even been to Italy."

"You have in a past life!"

"Did you hit your head or somethin' playin I-Spy, man?"

"No, but I did save your ass three times last mission."

"Twice." Scout smirked before turning back in the couch, glancing at the Engineer who hadn't shuffled or moved any inch. He glanced at Sniper, deadpan, "You sure he's not dead?"

He was embraced by another glare from the man's forest green eyes, and he slowly sulked in his seat.

"I was just asking."

Spy turned around as well, clasping his hands behind his head as he tapped his foot on the ground. "How long until we get there? I'm getting the impatient urge to stab things."

"Yo, Doc, how l-"

"I heard him, you drunken swine." the Medic seethed. "It's around ten to fifteen more minutes. Stab the wall if you must."

The Italian slouched. "But a wall doesn't bleed!"

Sniper smirked. "Then just stab your boyfriend there."

Scout breathed in sharply and suddenly, coughing into his hand, before shouting, "I've only known the guy for three weeks!"

The blonde shrugged. "Doesn't mean you can't be dating."

The Bostonian muttered furious nonsense before turning to the Italian, pointing at the older man accusingly. "Aren't you gonna say somethin', dumbass?"

He watched as the Spy dramatically held the back of his right hand to his forehead, left hand desperately latching onto his heart. "Oh, Princess, how you break my fragile heart!" he wailed, before turning slightly, leaning on the Scout who tried to push him off, only to make the man push back harder. "After all that I do for you, you still deny our love?!"

"Dude, get the hell off me!"

"No." A sly smirk cornered the man's face as he threw all his weight onto the younger man, completely squashing him onto the couch.

"I will rip out your fuckin' esophagus-" Scout continued to try to push the man off him, seething in anger, "-I swear I will rip it out with my bare hands if you don't get the fuck offa me!"

"Never, my Princess."

"I swear I will kick Red Scout into a blue shirt and steal his shirt and kill you."

Spy hummed, "I'm not sure it works that way, Buns."

"The fuck did you just call me?!" He glared at the snickers and snide comments from his teammates, finally shoving the other man off. "I swear I will kill all of you."

"Respawn, my Pri-"

"Shut. Up."

The ride started to feel like eternity, and Scout kept glancing at the sleeping Texan. He was seriously wondering if the man was even still alive; he hadn't budged an inch the entire trip, it was very concerning, really. Who else would build dispensers?

"You are _positive_ that he ain't dead, right?" the Bostonian inquired again, clasping his hands together before nodding at the sleeping Texan. "Cuz Engie has not moved a single inch for however long this ride has been for. I can't even tell if he's breathin'!"

Sniper pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, glancing as the Soldier precariously moved from his spot, glancing over the Engineer.

"You wake him up, mate, and I will-"

The man was interrupted by a tired chuckle, Soldier stepping back as the Texan slowly lifted his arm off his face and sat up, sighing, "No need for violence 'till we're back at war, men."

"I EXPECT TO WITNESS YOU MAKING YOUR MECHANICAL TOYS IN THE FIGHT AT DAWN TOMORROW."

"We'll see, rocket boy."

The Chinese man was about to yell at the man again, but was cut off by the Englishman forcefully turning him around. The men glared, before Soldier grumbled in his native tongue and stalked back to his seat as the Sniper sat down.

"So..." Spy hummed, tapping a couple fingers against his lips as he looked at the Texan and Englishman. "Are _you_ two dating?"

This was met with laughs and a glare.


	4. I Never Got Them Wrong - Chapter 4

Sightless

"So... are you like a zombie or somethin'?"

The Texan turned to look at the dark-haired boy, scowl on his face as he shifted his tool box on his shoulder. "Do you even know what a zombie looks like, string-bean?"

"Course I do!" Scout boasted, smug smirk on his face. "They're all gray and look tired and hunched and walk super slow and mumble nonsense. Like you!"

"You forgot something crucial, boy."

"...What?"

"Zombies eat brains," the man chuckled, shaking his head. "Last I recall, I don't eat no brains."

"Ah! But that's the thing!" Spy piped up, leaning on the Scout's shoulder and pointing a finger at the bald man. "You could be doing it late in the night, and that's why you're not getting sleep! Confess, Zombie!"

Another dark laugh emitted from the back of the man's throat, before falling into a heavy sigh, "Kinda wish it could be somethin' like that right about now."

The Scout and Spy glanced at each other, Bostonian raising a concerned and curious eyebrow along with the Italian. Spy's face quickly shifted into a devious smirk, reaching an arm around the Scout's shoulder and pinching his cheek.

"Your eyes are the prettiest blue I've seen, Princess." he hummed, snickering lightly.

"Dude, you're soundin' like my grandma. Just... she was lackin' the 'princess' part." he scoffed, tugging the Italian's hand away from his face before glancing back at the Engineer. "So, you get in trouble back home or somethin', hardhat? Your cat try to take over the world?"

"I'd... prefer not talkin' about it, string bean." Before the two could get another word in, the man sped up his pace to join the conversation the Sniper and Demoman were partaking in.

"His cat is totally trying to take over the world, dude."

"Obviously."

The trek through the halls of the base into the living quarters was filled with minutes of banter and small talk. In one instance, Spy turned on his cloak and snuck up behind the Medic, giving the man a wet willy before the man smacked him and a chase started, Medic screaming bloody murder at the top of his lungs. Scout could still hear the man screaming even when he was in his room hanging the company assigned clothes in his closet.

He jumped as the hanger smacked something.

"You almost got my eye, Princess." the Italian decloaked laughing as he rubbed his face, skipping out of the closet and jumping onto the Bostonian's bed.

"You're going to die, you know." Scout shook his head, hanging up the set of clothes and grabbing the next set. He glanced at the man over his shoulder, cocking an eyebrow. "Why my closet, anyway?"

The Italian shrugged, light brown eyes shining with mischief. "Why _not_ your closet?"

"Cuz I almost made you lose an eye with a clothes hanger."

"Ah, but you didn't, so all is well!"

There was a loud crash from the floor below them, Medic's cries of "WHERE IS HE" rampaging throughout the walls.

Scout glanced down at the floor before looking at the Italian again, frown and blank stare on his face. "I ain't helpin' you."

Spy sighed and fell onto his back into the bed, clasping his hands under his head. "That man really needs to not hold a grudge. It's been... what, an hour now?"

"Two minutes."

"Oh... well, still."

A moment passed as Scout finished putting away his clothes, sliding the suitcase underneath the bed before heading over to the case with his weapons, checking over his Scattergun and pistol before placing them on the racks on the wall.

"It's no fair." the Italian whined as the Bostonian went to grab his bat.

"What?"

"You and everyone else gets nice things to put your weapons on. I have nothing, I say!"

"Your weapons are small."

"Weaponism, I s-"

"Found you." the two turned to the doorway, Medic standing and glaring vehemently at the Spy, livid and twisted smile on his face.

Scout glanced blankly at the dark blonde to the other man, before unwrapping his bat from his bag. "I don't want a mess in my room. Can you kill him outside?"

"Certainly."

He could feel the look of betrayal the Italian man was throwing his way. He ignored it. Before the blonde could drag the suited man outside, a siren outside started blaring. Scout pouted. They weren't supposed to fight until tomorrow. Maybe it was just some sort of electronical malfunction or something. Or the Announcer decided to be a b-

"GEAR UP, LADIES! WE'RE GOING TO WAR!"

Soldier wouldn't let them just sit around either way. Jumping to his feet, Scout hopped over and put on his pack, strapping his shotgun and pistol to their holsters and placing his bat in his pack. Spy was digging in his closet when he turned around.

"The hell are you doin' man?!"

The Italian looked over his shoulder. "I never got to get my stuff in my room with that lunatic chasing me all over! I just brought them with me!"

"'Lunatic' you say?" Scout smirked as the Spy flinched as the dark blonde poked his head around the doorway after dashing to his room and grabbing his arsenal, hissing, "If only I could hurt you on the battlefield."

"Yeah, you'd like that, you motherf..." the Italian trailed off as he strapped his weapons to his person, nodding at the Bostonian and holding out his arm, smirking. "Shall we skip in together, Princess."

Scout rolled his eyes and ran. The Italian called after him frantically, but the Bostonian was already long gone. Soldier, Heavy, Sniper, Pyro and Medic were already in the respawn room when he arrived. Heavy raised his hand shortly for a small greeting, before resuming the conversation he was having with the Englishman. The Bostonian leaned against a wall and tossed his ball in the air, eyeing his team as he asbentmindedly caught the ball and tossed it again.

Soldier was marching in a line right next to the gate, straight, stiff and proper. He had the strangest feeling that the RED Soldier was also doing the same. For both men coming from opposite ends of the Earth, it was eerie how similar they were. Sometimes he got confused and didn't know which Soldier was yelling commands at him, even with the accent difference.

Their Medics were obviously both crazed lunatics, but it was really hard to see who wasn't on these teams anymore (other than him, obviously, he was as sane as a man could be). It was concerning he knew more about the RED Medic than he did their own Medic. German, loved birds, insane homicidal maniac, possibly had a super mancrush on RED Heavy. All he knew about their Medic was that he was probably equally insane, super party pooper, and was blonde and had a beard.

The Heavy's seemed similar enough. Big, burly dudes. Super big. RED Heavy seemed a little more fat and less muscle than their Heavy. Also had a super thick Russian accent. And was white.

Took a week before he realized RED Sniper was Australian and not English. Their accents sounded similar, it was hard to tell, all right?! He inadvertently glared at the other blonde in the room, recalling the three hour long lecture about Britain not being just England and blah blah blah Australia and blah blah blah don't compare him to that kangaroo humpin' bastard and blah blah blahdee blah. Super boring lecture really. Then the Demoman got in on it too and went on about Scottish history. Also really boring. They wouldn't let him leave. That was not a fun night.

He had an itching feeling the Demomen were related. How many black Scottish demolition experts did you see, really?

"Yo." He turned his head to the team who turned to him as he continued to toss his ball. "Are the Demomen related?"

Sniper sighed and nodded. "Cousins." he scoffed, before turning back to the Romanian.

Scout "ah"d in recognition, before glancing around the room again. "Where is he anyway? And hardhat?"

"Engineer is still unwell."

"HE IS NOTHING BUT A WHINY SNIVELING G-"

"I will smash your head in with your own shovel, mate. Friendly fire isn't on _yet_."

"Oh. Yes. I can kill Spy." Medic seemed to hum, before dropping his medi-gun without a care and heading back into the base. The men watched as he disappeared behind the door, before returning to the conversation.

"As Sniper was saying," Heavy mumbled before sitting up straight. "Engineer is unwell, he is sleeping in his room. Demoman is... right there!"

The man in question blinked in confusion as he walked into the room, hesitant smile sliding onto his lips. "Did I miss somethin', lads?"

Scout shrugged. "Just wonderin' where you were. Usually you're one of the first ones here."

The Scot's smile fell and he leaned against the wall opposite to the youngest man. "Yeah. I was just checkin' up on Engie, seein' if he needed anythin' before the match started." He sighed again, scratching the back of his neck. "Poor guy sounds like he was hit by a train or somethin'."

A silence fell over the room, but not for long.

"RED Demo's your cousin right? How'd he lose that eye?"

He glanced at the Scout and shrugged again. "Merasmus' book took it."

"The Bombinomicon?"

"That was the one."

"Well, th-" Scout cut himself short as he shifted himself to glance out the doorway back into the safe regions of the base. He heard yelling. Things were being tossed and... there it was. The gut-wrenching scream from the Italian echoed along the walls, and a small light emitted in the spawn room, shifting into the shape of the Spy before the man was there in reality.

The Bostonian lightly chucked his ball at the man's head, smirking. "Told you you'd die."

Spy sneered as he kicked the baseball back. "I hate you."

"Sure you do, Prince Charmin'."

After a smug Medic returned to the room, idle chatter started to flare up again. Pyro started to walk around the cramped room, lightly spraying his flamethrower as he paced around, a few of them retreating to the far end of the room to avoid the arsonist. Sniper had resorted to checking over his Hunstman Bow, and Demo had started cleaning his sticky launcher. Heavy held his weapon at the ready, staring at the gate, Soldier was continuing to march around, Medic was sitting on a bench and eyeing the Pyro. Scout and Spy had resorted to playing catch.

"Doesn't something seem off to you, Princess?" the Italian muttered, eyeing the gate quickly as he tossed the baseball back.

"Not re-"

"THE GATES ARE OPEN! BOMB THE HERETICS!"

Snatching his ball out of the air, the Bostonian saluted before running out into the field, stashing the object into his pocket as he replaced it with the shotgun holstered on his lower back. Huh, the RED Demoman was trying something different this time, there weren't any stickies on the gates. Ducking behind the bomb, the man pushed with his shoulders and free hand, Soldier was on the left, doing the same. He flinched as bullets whizzed past him on the first turn and quickly rolled to the side Soldier was on. There was screaming and yelling and the mini-machine guns were screeching loudly as they were being used. Rockets were exploding. Arrows sunk into the ground in front of the bomb.

"WE COULD USE A HAND HERE!" he shouted to the team, glancing into the fray as he flinched at more bullets ricocheting off the cart. Sniper was hiding behind a rock, examining the battlefield and shooting off a couple more arrows before bolting to the other two, crouching and half-hugging the Bostonian in order to help push and stay out of the line of fire.

The blonde grumbled, "You didn't shower today."

"Yeah, well, you didn't brush your teeth." he muttered back, before slightly nodding at the Chinese man in front of them. "And _he_ wouldn't let me shower."

"Who doesn't let a man shower, mate?"

"WE WERE GOING TO BE L-" the Soldier fell dead at their feet as they pushed the cart into the nearby tunnel, the men quickly shooting ahead before ducking to the back of the wagon. The men glanced at the corpse, Scout grimacing at the arrow between the man's eyes.

Bullets littered the ground beside them, the men cautiously peeking from the corners and shooting shots in return. Ducking back to reload his Scattergun, he froze at the sight of boots connected to a red hazmat suit. He didn't even have time to warn his teammate before they were engulfed in flames.

It was such a horrible way to die. He never could tell when he respawned after being burned alive-he could still feel the fire as his body reconstructed. The pain just merged with the respawn sensation. It was the creepiest thing in the world.

A sudden deep breath filled his lungs as his feet touched the floor of the respawn room. Okay. Good. He was here. That was great.

He jumped as the Englishman fell to the floor beside him, before he glared up at the younger man.

"Couldn't even give me a warnin'?"

"No time. He was pullin' the trigger by the time I realized."

The blonde rose to his feet and cracked his neck, grunting, "Fair enough." and ran out without another word.

The Bostonian took another breath, before following the older man, dashing past him and shooting at the RED Demoman who was nearby. He watched as the Scotsman landed dead on the ground and fired more rounds at the Russian and German duo headed his way before dashing back into the tunnel, where his Demoman and Heavy had moved the cart near the end of it. Jumping on top of the bomb, he crouched and quickly reloaded his Scattergun.

He heard the Romanian sniff like he did when confused, calling to the boy, "What are you doing?"

"I'll be like a guardian angel. Shoot anyone that gets in the way. Now just keep pushin' the damn cart."

He heard the older men sigh in aggravation, but didn't complain otherwise. The Bostonian scowled as the cart returned back to the daylight, and he quickly shot at the RED Scout that was running towards them. The man shot back before ducking into the nearby alcove. BLU Scout frowned quickly replaced with a scream as an arrow lodged into his shoulder, causing him to topple onto the ground.

"You okay, Guardian Angel?" the Romanian questioned, smile on his face.

"I swear I hate every single one of you."

"Yeah, w-" the man was interrupted by beeping and the rapid-fire bullets from a sentry hiding in the alcove, the man falling motionless to the ground after the barrage.

"Aw shit." the Demoman cursed. "C'mon, lad, help me move this bloody thing."

"Uh, in case you didn't see, there's an arrow in my freakin' shoulder."

"Ye can still push with yer other hand. Get your scrawny ass up here before the sentry gets ye."

"Hey! My ass is _not _scrawny! It's the pants!"

"Whatever ye say, lad."

Grumbling under his breath, the dark brunette quickly scattered to get to his feet. He heard the RED Scout from before laugh, then there was the sensation of the bullets piercing his flesh, the white light, the searing intensity that coursed through his veins, and the respawn room in his sights. He looked over as the silhouette of the Spy appeared next to him, a moment passing before the man was there beside him.

The Italian seethed, wringing the handle of his knife in his hands as he glared at the Bostonian. "The fucking French bastard was disguising himself as you!"

Scout smirked, patting the other man's shoulder and letting out a joking sigh, "Isn't that part of your ever loved job description?"

"Shut up, Princess."

The two grinned before running back into the field. The Heavies were having a fist fight, Snipers were shooting arrows all over, Soldiers and Demomen jumping with their rockets and sticky bombs, Pyros lighting everything on fire. General chaos. The life they learned to live.

"Yo, Prince Charming, you there?" he whispered as he snuck through the tunnel, looking over his shoulder to check for another sudden Pyro attack.

The cloaked man snickered, "Right behind you."

"There's a sentry in that little doorway whatever thing in front of the bomb. Can you sap it?"

"Job description."

"Yeah yeah, get your ass goin'."

The man's footsteps faded ahead as the Scout continued to slowly make his way towards the end of the tunnel. He waited a moment at the edge, grinning as he heard the distressed cry from the RED Engineer and dashed towards the bomb, sliding to the side away from the still possible threat. Then he heard the sentry explode. Then he felt a presence behind him.

"Who's the best?" Spy cooed as he decloaked.

"Me."

"Maybe at sucking, sure."

"You thought the Frenchie was me."

"...Yeah... well."

"Whatever, man. Just push the stupid cart."

The match went on for minutes more, the battle escalating further as the bomb continued on it's path along the tracks. Corpses were strewn across the battlefield, bullets and ashes and sinew littered the ground. The yelling never stopped. The bomb was nearing it's final checkpoint.

"I could use a little help here!" Scout cried out, flinching as bullets landed beside him. His ear was bleeding from getting a little too close to one of the Demoman's bombs, and everything in general just hurt. He wasn't getting very far with the cart. Jeeze, where was everyone?

"Aw, is the baby all alone?" his lip furled in disgust as the RED Scout walked alongside him, hands folded behind his head as he grinned. "Poor, poor baby."

"I ain't no damn baby."

"All I ever hear you do is whine and snivel. Prove it to me otherwise, baby boy." he scoffed, sidestepping to stand infront of the BLU member, glaring down as he continued to walk.

"I don't know who you've been listenin' to, but it sure ain't me, pal." He cocked his head to the side and returned the glare, eyebrows raising a little as he saw a gleam of an arrowhead in the distance. Without another word, he grabbed his Scattergun and aimed it at the RED Scout, who did the same. He grinned. "Don't know why you didn't just shoot me, pal. You're dead in three seconds."

The RED Scout didn't say a word, merely glared and pulled the trigger the moment an arrow pierced into his skull. His aim threw off as the lifeless body fell, but the BLU Scout seethed as a bullet sunk into his abdomen.

"Why didn't you just shoot him?" he winced as he glanced over to the decloaking Italian. He was about to respond before the Spy's eyes widened and he grabbed the younger man and pushed him to the ground, hissing about the RED Sniper. Whatever arrow was supposed to be shot never happened, the men looking up to see their enemy hanging off a ledge, arrow lodged between his eyes.

The men were about to wave and thank the Englishman, but a rush of intense pain shot through their bodies. Scout grimaced as his ears exploded with high pitched ringing and squealing, his eyesight turning blurry and swaying as his head pounded and scratched and clawed and his heart was beating faster and faster. It eventually felt like it wasn't there anymore. He couldn't remember how to breathe. He had to force himself to take breaths but he was forgetting how it worked. He struggled to look over at his teammate, who looked to be hunched over. It was hard to tell. He was seeing dots. They were clouding his vision.

Then everything was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

Sightless

He was dizzy and nauseous when he regained consciousness. He hadn't even opened his eyes yet but the world felt like it was swaying and falling around him. He inhaled sharply, his burning lungs unsure if they were grateful for the act or against it, and the boy slowly opened his eyes. His vision was still blurred, but he could make out the shapes of his legs sprawled out in front of him.

His breaths were shaky and uneven, and he kept swallowing to try to rid himself of the feeling of nausea. It didn't help. Where was he anyway? What even happened?

"Hey, you okay, Princess?"

He raised his head and looked to his left, blinking at the unfocused vision of his teammate. He closed his eyes and lightly shook his head, groaning, "What the hell happened?"

"Not sure. All I know is we're hostages now."

"...what?" He opened his eyes again and glanced around the room as his vision slowly tried to focus. Red. There was red everywhere on the walls. He realized he couldn't move his arms and looked down, both him and Spy were tied to a pillar with rope.

"Well... shit," he sighed and rested his head against the pillar, looking up at the ceiling. "What do we do?"

"Imagine I shrugged in response."

"Sure."

The men sat in silence, Scout closing his eyes and concentrating on taking deep breaths in the hopes of quenching the continuous feeling of nausea. The Italian shifted awkwardly as much as he could beside him. It wasn't a very big pillar; big enough for the both of them to be tied to on one side, but just barely. He wasn't sure how much time passed when he heard footsteps clambering closer, followed by a door slamming open.

He opened one eye to watch as the RED Soldier, Spy and Heavy filed into the room. The Russian closed the door an folded his arms as he leaned against the wall, the Spy clapsing his hands behind his back as he stood off to the side, the American pacing as he stared at the two. Even though the helmet was obstructing the man's view, he could still feel the harsh glare.

"Can we help you?" the Italian questioned, voice laced with anger.

"YOU WILL ONLY SPEAK WHEN SPOKEN TO, MAGGOT!" the Soldier yelled as he leaned in front of the man, who's face contorted into disgust as spit landed on him. "Now what do your people know?!"

Scout side-eyed the Italian, who did the same, before looking back at the Soldier. "We're just as confused as you guys are." the Spy growled, trying to push himself away from the pillar. "Look, just let us go. We'll go back to base, get some sleep, and have another war tomorrow."

"I'm afraid that won't be happening." RED Spy mused, grabbing his butterfly knife from his pocket and twirling it absentmindedly in his fingers. "Respawn has been shut off and any attempts to contact Miss Pauling or the Administrator have failed. You two are staying here until the matter is sorted out."

"So... we're bein' kept here s..." Scout paused and frowned, ready to raise an accusing finger before remembering his arms were tied. He tilted his head instead and scowled. "How do you know respawn's off? How do we know you're not lyin'?"

"Trust me," the French man jeered, catching his knife before flicking it in other directions. "You do not want to see what happened to our Sniper because of it."

The BLU mercenaries looked at each other, Spy's lip twitching as he stared at his RED counterpart. "What if we do?"

He sighed, rolling his eyes as he looked to the Russian over his shoulder. "Untie them and stay right on their heels. Soldier, go tell the others we're coming."

The Heavy nodded and walked towards the back of the pillar while the Soldier marched out of the room. The ropes fell limply and the men threw it off to the floor, Scout wincing in pain as he stood up. It still hurt where he was shot.

The RED Spy must have noticed his discomfort because he ended up commenting, "We didn't want to waste our resources completely healing an enemy. The bullet's gone and you've been patched up, it will have to heal on it's own now."

"Aren't they just so generous?" the Italian scoffed, nudging the Bostonian with his shoulder.

The French man eyed him, dark blue eyes frosted with contempt. "I would think we are, seeing how we let you both live instead of killing you."

Scout jumped as the Russian grabbed his shoulder. His hand was huge, holy shit!

"We can kill BLU's at anytime, da. Let us move." He chortled, pushing the younger men as they followed the Spy.

The two young mercenaries glanced at each other, faces shrouded in concern before turning back to look down the hall. Like all the other bases they managed to run into to snatch the RED team's intelligence, theirs was exactly the same as the BLU base, just reversed. And red. Red all over. The men walked without conversation, their footsteps echoing along the empty hallways as the Heavy kept a tight grip on their shoulders, the RED Spy continuing to do knife tricks as they moved. There were beer bottles scattered on the floor and torn up walls. Their Medic would throw a shit-fit if that was the condition their base was in, even if it was only one hallway.

The rounded more hallways and down a stairwell, reaching the last hallway to the spawn room. The Engineer was sitting against a wall, clutching his brown hair tightly as the Medic knelt in front of him, glancing as the group got closer before turning his attention back to the Texan. The Pyro and Soldier were standing on opposite sides of the door, the Pyro sitting with his legs crossed and cheeks in his hands, the American standing tall and straight. Scout could still feel the man glare at them from under the helmet.

RED Spy sneered at the two as he placed his hand on the door handle. "You wanted to see it." he reminded, opening the door and heading inside.

The Russian man pushed the two inside, and Scout's breath caught in his throat. The Australian was lying on the floor, missing his lower torso. The man's lifeless eyes were visible behind the yellow-tinted aviators, his hand extended like he'd been trying to grab something or someone. Blood stained the floor and his mouth, intestines leaking out of his body.

The Bostonian yelped as the RED Scout suddenly jumped in front of him, scowling. "You better be thankful, piss-pants. That woulda been you if your Sniper hadn't got him."

The dark brunette gulped, glancing back at the corpse. That could have been him. His stomach twisted and curled, bile rising to his throat. He swallowed it down, clasping a hand over his mouth as his eyes brimmed with tears and throat burned at the systematic reaction. He looked to his teammate out of the corner of his eye. He seemed unfazed.

"How come you haven't moved him?" the Italian questioned, folding his arms. "Doesn't seem... proper to just leave him there."

"We were hoping to contact Miss Babe and see if there was any way to bring yellow-eyes back from the _dead_ dead. Didn't work out. I think we'll just throw him outside and let the vultures eat him." the freckled man mused as he turned on his heel and shook the RED Spy's shoulder. "What do you think, Spy?"

The man eyed him wearily before diverting his attention to the Russian. "Go take them back. They've seen all they need to see."


	6. Chapter 6

Sightless

It was a little disconcerting-he wasn't used to a tall Engineer. He never really paid attention to the RED Texan's height on the battlefield as it was never a concern for him. He rarely shot for brains, he preferred the body shots. They were quick and easy to pull off and he could still hit vital organs and slow them down.

But their Engineer was so _tall_. As tall as BLU's asshole English Sniper, possibly. And he had hair! _Hair!_ A full head of hair _and_ a beard! It was possible he was overreacting. Actually, he was certain he was. Maybe he was subconsciously trying to distract himself from the fact that he and his teammate were being held hostage in the enemy base where the enemy Sniper lay in a pool of his own blood with his lower torso missing.

Now he wasn't distracted anymore.

The four men walked down the halls, the Texan having followed along once they left the spawn room.

...Maybe it was the accent that was disconcerting. Both RED and BLU Engie's had exceedingly similar pitches in voice and tone. Or was RED more gruff? Yeah, he sounded like he'd smoked for a couple of years. Had that smoker-gruffness to his voice.

"...Do you know if anyone on our team suffered the same fate like your friend?" Spy commented, briefly looking over his shoulder at the way they came.

"We've no idea." the dark brunette sighed, rubbing his eyes before dragging his hands down his face. "It's only been a couple of hours. Don't remember any BLU's goin' down. You two were close, though."

"_Princess_ was close to kicking the bucket. It's a good thing I was there." the Italian gave him a soft look, voice distant. "I'm sorry about your friend, if it means anything."

"I'd say it would, but they're empty words right now."

The rest of the trip was silent and awkward, filled with uneasy tension. Scout clutched his side as the movement started to grate on the bullet wound. He grimaced as he thought about the rope digging into his abdomen. Now that he was aware of the wound, wouldn't it just hurt more?

"Hey..." He flinched as the Russian giant glanced at him, glancing around nervously as his voice shook. "Uh... could you maybe just tie up our hands? I-I don't want the rope to like fuckin'... you know, just kill my side even more or some shit."

The Heavy continued to stare at him from the corner of his eye, and the Bostonian bit his tongue and glanced to the floor. Somehow the man was even scarier _without_ a weapon.

"We shall see." He looked back up as the Russian opened the door back to the room they were to stay tied up in. "For now, it will be the same." the man glared at the Italian as he walked past, before snarling. "No funny business, masked man."

Spy turned on his heel, rolling up his sleeves, face void of expression. "Got nothing funny for you, big guy."

The man grunted, nodding at the pillar in the center of the room, closing the door as the Engineer made his way in. The BLU members glanced at each other, Scout sighing in defeat as he kicked up the ropes with his foot, catching them and wincing as the kick aggravated his wound. He handed the rope to the Heavy and reluctantly sat down at the base of the pillar. He watched as his teammate huffed and did the same, nudging the Bostonian with his shoulder as he plopped to the floor, seething in regret as he slammed against the concrete.

The Russian chuckled at the Spy's actions, the man muttering Italian under his breath as the Heavy started to wrap the ropes around them. It took around 8 loops before the Russian pulled tight and tied the knot on the other end, Scout holding a sharp breath and clenching his jaw and fists at how much it was pinching him into the pillar. God, that _hurt_.

RED Engineer stared at the two. "Think you did it up a lil too much there, slim."

"The lungs in my mouth and my intestines in my throat agree." Spy coughed, scraping his heels on the floor as he tried to lift himself out.

"It will loosen." the Russian snorted as he headed back to the door, looking at his teammate. "You are keeping watch?"

The Texan shrugged. "Grab my guitar for me, would ya?"

Heavy grunted and left the room, the Engineer grabbing a nearby stool and placing it where he was standing beside the door, sitting down and staring at his captives. "I'd try to loosen that for ya, but Heavy there is a monster at knots."

"More like just a monster." Scout grumbled under his breath, trying to stretch the ropes out by wriggling his body and rolling his shoulders.

"That's just making it worse, Princess." Spy whined, before doing the same thing.

"Then you stop doing it, dumbass."

"You started it, dumbass."

"That doesn't mean you have to join in, dumbass."

"Of course it does, dumbass."

"How did you even become a Spy, dumbass?"

"I recited the job description, dumbass."

The two went back and forth, only to stop when the Bostonian strung a line of swears as his side seared and throbbed in aggravation.

"Sorry."

"Yeah, whatever, dumbass." The dark brunette glanced at the Texan and sighed, "What happens now? Tomorrow?"

The older man rested his head against the wall behind him, twirling his thumbs as he took a deep breath, contemplating. "Not much, I'd reckon. You'd stay here until we get contact from Miss Pauling or the Administrator, I would think. Course, plans could change at any time. Spy could decide you're a liability and just-_bam_."

Engineer sighed in aggravation, head in his hands as his voice quivered. "I'd prefer if that didn't happen, to be right honest with ya. I hope we can get all this sorted without a hassle."

"Tough luck of that happening." Spy scoffed, crossing his legs as comfortably as he could in his position. "Shoulda just let us go back to our base."

"And have BLU team come and kill us?" Heavy sneered from the opened door before silently handing a guitar to the Texan before heading back out. The BLU mercenaries watched as the older man silently fiddled with the strings and tuning, before the man began to play. It didn't seem he was playing any song in particular. It flowed and felt like a complete piece, if he was even playing a song.

Minutes passed, with no sounds other than the strumming of the guitar. The RED member would glance at them periodically, tired look in his eyes before his attention turned back to his instrument. The BLU duo would shift uncomfortably in their spots, trying to release tension and stiffness. It didn't work well. If anything it just made everything worse. The men grumbled and swore, continuing to fidget for what seemed like hours before giving up. They listened to the guitar for minutes, Spy continuing to writhe around periodically before stopping as Scout seethed. The ropes loosened... a little. Didn't help whatsoever.

"What happens when we get hungry?" the Italian mumbled, sighing in aggravation as he rested his head on the Bostonian's shoulder. "I could eat his entire face."

"It would taste like nothin' but my tears, Prince Charmin'."

"I love the taste of salty morons."

"You should have devoured yourself by now then."

The Italian chuckled, and Scout lightly shoved his head as much as he could with his shoulder. He glanced at the Texan who continued to strum his guitar, shaking his head with a short smile that quickly fell to a frown.

"I don't know how most things will work, boy." his voice was solemn. "We're not quite sure what we're doing with ourselves right now. I reckon our Spy will have most of it figured out for tomorrow."

"Great..." Scout muttered, before nudging the Italian again. "Get offa me, man."

His team member nuzzled his head onto the man's shoulder, grinning. "No. You're comfy."

"Dumbass."

"Comfy dumbass."


	7. Chapter 7

Sightless

The Engineer left minutes after Scout had feigned sleep. He heard the heavy door lock when the man left, and he was left to look around a near-pitch black room with his teammate fast asleep on his shoulder. His body was stiff and rigid, numb but pained at the lack of movement. His side would flare up in agony from time-to-time, causing him to try to shift around and calm it down. It usually only made it worse.

A man was dead. There was a corpse, and the man wouldn't re-materialize in a matter of seconds. He was gone forever.

It had almost been him.

Scout's lips pursed as his brow furrowed, lowering his head at the thought. How would his Ma react? His brothers? How would RED Spy react? He would probably go visit his Ma to give her the news. Ugh. He'd probably fake his agony around her, and be overly ecstatic inside. An enemy was dead, why wouldn't he be happy?

Then again, his enemy was dead, and he wasn't happy about it. Was it just because he would have been killed in the man's stead? ...He probably had a ma, too. Well, everyone had a ma, but the Sniper seemed young enough for his ma to still be kicking. How terrible would it feel if your child died before you did? He shuddered, raising his knees to his chest as much as he could, grimacing as his side protested and his legs throbbed in stiff agony.

What would have happened if he'd been shot in the head with that arrow? Would he have respawned faster and made it out without a scratch? Would he have lost his lower torso and crawl to the supply locker, gagging and straining to say words as he dragged his body, intestines falling out onto the floor...

He threw his head to the side, vomiting onto the floor. Images flashed through his mind like iron strikes, the corpse of the Australian, his dead eyes, blood, blood, his Ma weeping, his brothers crying or fighting or throwing Nathan out of his wheelchair or ripping up Barry's writing pad or punching a wall or locking themselves in the bathroom... the flashing image of his lost dad seared into his mind, quickly replaced by the RED Spy, consoling and hugging his Ma and...

"Hey, what happened?" he gulped the sour taste in his mouth, throat burning from the bile and cold sweat shimmering on his brow as he looked to his teammate. "You okay?"

He nodded in response, Spy's concerned face slowly delving into a scowl.

"And I'm the Queen of America. It was stupid to ask." the Italian sighed, lightly shoving the Bostonian's foot with his own, repeating, "What happened?"

Scout closed his eyes, inhaling deeply as he rested his head against the pillar, swallowing again and again to try to quench the stings in his throat. The men sat in silence, the only thing audible to the Scout being his breathing and racing heart. He slowly opened his eyes after what felt like eternity, coughing lightly as the back of his throat tickled in distaste.

He took a few more deep breaths, sliding his legs back down to the floor. Everything hurt. He couldn't get comfy. This sucked so much shit.

"My... imagination got to me, ya know?" he finally admitted, glancing at his teammate. "Just... imaginin' what could have happened. How my family would react if I'd been the one to get the arrow to the head as respawn crapped out. Then the Sniper's corpse just... fuckin' flashed back into my head like hot waves and he had a family, too, right? He won't be comin' home and... he was an enemy but... am I sad because that coulda been me or am I sad because he was an enemy? It's fuckin' bullshit, man. This is fuckin' bullshit!

"And they can kill us anytime, too! Anytime they damn well please! And that stupid RED Spy bastard will probably go home to my Ma and give her the bad news and act all sad and remorseful but in the end not really care! What was I to him other than a fuckin' BLU merc who killed him more than once? It don't matter if I'm the kid of the woman he's datin' or nothin' right? He's an assassin! Just kill me and let it be done and..." he sobbed as tears streamed down his face, shaking his head when he realized he was crying. "This is bullshit! I shouldn't be cryin'... this is lame... this is so fuckin' lame and this is bullshit and it's all fuckin' lame bullshit! I don't want my Ma... I don't want my brother's gettin' nothin' but my dogtags back, or just my hat or my shirt or my bat... I'll lose a leg here or somethin' but I don't want to lose my life... Which is fuckin' stupid, we're in a stupid fuckin' war here! What the fuck am I talkin' about? This is so fuckin' lame!"

He found himself lowering his head, blubbering like a fucking idiot. Spy didn't say anything, instead leaning and resting his head against the dark brunette's. Probably as close to whatever comforting thing he could do with them being tied up. Eternity passed, or time itself froze; it was hard to tell with his unrelenting crying. Part of him figured the other merc had fallen asleep again, as he hadn't moved or reacted or spoke a word in the minutes he continued to cry. He didn't look up to check. His body was quaking and his stomach was doing flips and tying in knots and his head was pounding and his lungs were burning and his face was hot from the tears and his heart was drilling into his ribcage and his side was engulfed in terrorizing agony.

It felt like decades before his hysterical sobs turned into quiet hiccups. He was so fucking stupid.

"You feel any better now?" Spy's voice was soft. Felt like he imagined it.

"...N-no." he stuttered, sniffing, wishing he could wipe his face clean of the tears and snot and bullshit. "...Don't feel a-any fuckin' better at all." He turned to his friend, curious frown shaking on his features. "How the f-fuck are you so fuckin', calm?!"

The Italian glanced to the floor, sighing and about to respond, interrupted by the sound of the lock on the door being tampered with. The men glanced in the direction, the door slamming open after a questionable amount of seconds. It was enough to make them hope for a fellow BLU mercenary, but it was dashed when the lights were abruptly flicked on.

Shutting his eyes in pain, the Bostonian scowled at the voice of his RED counterpart.

"Man, you're gross as hell, piss-pants. Why the fuck did you throw up? Disgusting." his voice was laced with humour, a chirp tuning into his words. "And, what's this? You look like you've been crying! So you _are_ a big baby, you fucking liar."

Spy seethed, "Leave him alone, you freckled shitstain."

Scout opened his eyes, squinting as his vision adjusted to the light change. He glared at his counterpart, who was fixated on the Italian.

"The fuck are you going to do about it, low-life?" the auburn-haired man chuckled, crossing his arms and grinning in satisfaction. "Seriously, you can't do a fucking thing, man. Even if you _were_ untied, I'd kick your ass so hard you'd be eating shit for a year."

"Then untie me. I would gladly like to see you _try_." Spy snarled, leaning forward as much as he could to scowl at their adversary.

The RED member chuckled, eyeing the Italian before glancing at the Bostonian. He shook his head and shrugged, starting to slowly make his way around the room as he clicked his tongue.

"Big guy makes a mean knot." his voice resonated from behind the pillar, and the sound of something 'tacking' emerged with it. He appeared as he rounded the side, fluently twirling a butterfly knife between his fingers. A malicious grin was on his freckled face as his confident strides carried him back to where he stood in front of the two men, and he slowly kneeled down to their level, snapping the knife in his hand as he held it broadly in front of them, eyeing the Italian with a wild look.

Before the Bostonian knew what was happening, his counterpart roughly grabbed the neck of the Spy's mask, jaggedly and haphazardly cutting up. There was blood. Ignoring the swears of the BLU mercenaries, the auburn-haired man continued to cut away the mask, piercing a long line from the Italian's right jawline up to his eyebrow, finally cutting up to the top and ripping the fabric away, tossing it to the floor without a care.

A cocky and smug grin embellished on the man's face as he lifted his head, looking down at his handiwork, chirping, "Terrible spies don't get to wear masks, you low-life."

There was a moment of choked words between the BLUs, Spy seething as all he could do was growl at the RED, his short, black curly hair sticking to his forehead, blood trickling down his face and neck. What had happened took a while to register in the Scout's muddled, sleep-ridden mind, and he merely stared at the maskless man for minutes, noticing only the blood.

His eyes widened as he slipped back into realization, whirling his furious scowl at his counterpart, screaming, "What the FUCK is wrong with you?!"

The smile on the RED's face fell immediately, fading into a vacant stare as he looked at the younger BLU merc. There was a sudden, sharp pain shooting through his left leg. Not even a second passed when the Italian cursed and kicked the RED merc back, Scout watching as the freckled man fell before glancing to his leg. The butterfly knife was lodged to the hilt in his knee.

His breath caught in the back of his throat, Spy screaming something in his native tongue beside him as the RED Scout lifted himself to his feet, cursing. He bounded back to the hostages, lifting his foot high with the intent to crash it down on the Bostonian's injured knee, breaking his leg. There was so much disgust and malice lurking in the man's brown eyes, the only thing the Bostonian was capable of doing was shutting his eyes and squeaking pitifully as he waited for the impending inferno of pain.

Instead of that, there was a loud thump and the red head swearing. He opened his eyes, breathing quick and panicked as he looked at the RED Spy pin the freckled man to the wall, the men arguing at each other in French before the older man shoved the Scout away, grabbing the back of his collar and pushing the man out of the room, the men continuing to hiss at each other in the foreign language the entire while.

He heard the Italian let out a relieved sigh, "You okay?"

The Bostonian turned to the other, voice cracking with disbelief, "Me?! Don't fuckin' worry about me! He fuckin' cut your fuckin' neck! Are _you_ okay?!"

"Didn't cut it deep, Princess." Spy reassured as he glanced at the knife in the man's leg. "That... is deep."

Scout gulped, before cracking a shaky smile. "It ain't bleedin' though... that's good, right?"

Spy eyed him wearily, resting his head against the pillar as he stared absent-mindedly at the door. "Think they're related?"

"What?"

"Our counterparts, man. Freckles was handling that knife like an expert. French, too."

"Pssh. Probably just some coincidence or somethin'." He glanced back at his leg, concern etching on his face as he questioned, "It'd be bad if I tried to set my leg down, wouldn't it?"

"Pop your knee out, probably... Can't believe that shitstain was about to break your leg with that knife in it. What the hell is his problem?"

"I would tell you, but it's none of your concern." the man looked as the RED Spy walked into the room, Medic not far behind.

"How is it not any of our concern?" the curly haired man spat, "Your freckled shitface almost broke his fucking leg!"

"And cut his fuckin' neck!"

The Spy eyed the two with seeming disinterest as he pulled out a cigarette and lit it, dark blue eyes acting like voidless daggers. "Perhaps later. However, I assure you that it won't be any time soon. We are not keeping you here to indulge you on our personal affairs."

"Then why don't you just kill us? It must b-"

"No."

"Explain why we're here then."

"You are here because we need you here," the man took a drag of his cigarette, blowing out the smoke as he continued. "With you two missing, the BLU team has yet to continue their assault. I also acquired the information that your Soldier tried to continue the mission, but miscalculated his rockets. Your team is now well aware of the fact that respawn is off."

The German man grinned as he knelt in front of the BLU mercs, examining their injuries. "With you two here, they lack the power they need for any kind of rebuttal."

Scout winced as the Medic tilted and applied pressure to his knee. "That doesn't explain why you're not killin' us yet. I'm thankful you haven't though."

"You'd probably vomit as a gun was pointed to your head anyway," Medic snickered, eyeing the bile on the floor. "You managed that by your thoughts, I'm assuming, ja?"

Scout grumbled under his breath, eyeing up at the RED Spy who returned the gesture. The man took another drag on his cigarette, before flicking it to the floor and stomping it out with his heel.

"If you hadn't noticed, something is amiss," he stated bluntly. "We could have to cooperate at a later date, but it's yet to be seen."

The Italian's lip furled. "And what if nothing is seen?"

"That's when we kill you!"

"No, Doktor, that's when we let them go. If there is nothing to be seen, and no contact, our contractors are likely dead and there is no more reason for war."

The German sighed in disappointment, slowly pulling the knife out of the brunette's knee, causing him to cringe and mewl in agony. He muttered something about the 'discoveries of science', Scout clenching his fists and looking away as the man tended to his wound. He heard the footsteps of the Spy disappear back up the stairs, the doctor humming and talking to himself in German as he examined and cleaned up the injury.

He felt like throwing up again.


	8. Chapter 8

Sightless

"Okay... okay... okay... Now I'm bleedin'_!_" The panic shot through him instantaneously, his leg dripping blood with the absence of the knife and the doctor, who had just strode out of door, mumbling to himself in German. The Bostonian looked up to the empty hallway, breaths short and panicked as he called in desperation, "Doc?! You left me bleedin' down here?! Medic!"

"Calm down, Princess." despite the Italian trying to be reassuring, Scout could hear his voice shake. "I don't think he had all his equipment."

"So he lets me bleed out?!"

The dark-haired man frowned, staring at the younger man, obviously unsure what to say, cracking noises emitting from his throat as he let out a monotone note, glancing around as he tried to think of anything as a response.

"Help me!"

"How?!"

"I-I don't know! Help me!"

"HOW?!"

"I DON'T KNOW!"

"THEN HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO FUCKING HELP YOU?!"

"I DON'T FUCKIN' KNOW, MAN! JUST FUCKIN' DO SOMETHIN'! I'M FEELIN' LIGHT-HEADED!"

"THAT'S BECAUSE YOU'RE FUCKING YELLING!"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP! JUST HELP ME ALREADY!"

"FUCKING _HOW_?!"

"I DON'T FUCKIN' KNOW!"

"I wonder how you two would react if one of you was actually in danger of dying!" the German man laughed as he sauntered over, medical kit in his hands. "I feel like letting you bleed out a little more, just to see how you re-"

"For the love of everythin' holy, Doc, please don't."

The aging man stared at him for a long moment, finally shrugging and sighing as he searched through his kit. The moment he pulled out thread and a needle, the Scout turned to look at the wall, grimacing at the sight.

"H-Hey, Doc?"

"Hm?"

"A-Are you gonna... give me some morphine or anythin'?"

The oldest man cackled, a chill shooting down the dark brunette's spine as the German cooed, "Nonsense! I'm not about to waste the morphine on someone we may very well kill later."

"But you would use your bandages and s-"

"Ah, we have enough of this to last a lifetime. I believe your bases do as well." He rolled up the boy's pant leg, Scout seething as it brushed against the injury, and seething again as the man laid his leg as flat as he could to the ground.

"This will hurt... a lot. You may want to squeeze your lover-boy's hand there."

Scout could _hear_ the grin embellish on the German's face, and before he could rebuttal, literal stabbing pain flared through his leg, an undignified crackling squeak emitting from the back of his throat as his body tried to jerk away in retaliation. Without a word, the RED mercenary kneeled down on his ankle on his injured leg, pinning it to the ground.

"Is that necessary?"

"It is if we don't want to cause even more damage with his flailing."

The Scout choked on his air and bit his tongue as his flesh was pierced into again, shutting his eyes tightly, clenching his fists, and bending over as much as he could. All he wanted was to curl himself into a ball and be home in his bed under his blankets while his Ma and brother made cookies downstairs with the smell wafting up to his room and one of his other brother's sneaking him some cookie dough and their Ma yelling at them for taking the cookie dough and-

He felt Spy poke his trembling fist before the Italian tried to wedge his fingers into his grasp. As another strike shot back into his system, the dark brunette opened his hand and squeezed tightly on the Italian's. He thought he could hear Spy curse and the Medic chuckle, but his head was started to pound as his heart raced and body screamed as the pain surged through his veins, so he wasn't sure.

It felt like in the next moment the Medic was gone, and his leg was wrapped in gauze and a protective bandage. There was blood pooled on the floor beside him, his hand limply laying on top of the Spy's.

"Hey, Princess."

The Bostonian blinked groggily, squinting while his lip pursed as he stared at the older man in confusion. "The fuck happened?"

"You blacked out."

"Oh..." He sighed, glancing down at his bandaged leg. "It still hurts like a fuckin' bitch."

"That kinda happens when a homicidal maniac sews you up without any freezing."

"Asshole."

"Asshole indeed." Spy chuckled dimly. "Surprised you haven't moved your hand yet, Princess."

"...My h..." The hand that was laying limply on top of the Spy's. The man squeaked, sliding his hand to his body, eyes wide as he spat incoherent nonsense.

"Relax, Princess, I won't tell anybody." the man purred, before nodding towards the door. "Can't say the same for Herr Doktor though."

"Well fuck him with a rusty saw!"

"I reckon he would dislike that." The Engineer chuckled from the now opened doorway, Pyro hopping past him with a cleaning brush. The man kept the door open as the RED Spy and Scout emerged, the freckled man grumbling under his breath with a mop in one hand and a bucket in the other.

The masked man smirked as he glanced to the Texan. "I bet he'd enjoy it if his wife was the one to do it."

Scout's face twisted in disgust, shifting himself away as much as he could as the Pyro plopped to the floor in front of him.

"Yo, Fire Ant, you can't clean it up with a dry brush." the auburn-haired man commented, dropping the filled bucket onto the floor. "Soap water, Ant." The man sneered as he glanced at the vomit on the floor. "You got the easy part..."

"I'd give Pyro the mop, boy," Engineer chuckled. "Looks like you're gonna have to get on your hands and knees to clean that up."

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"No."

"Well fuck."

The man sighed and thrust the mop into the Pyro's hand while yanking the brush, the men starting to clean up the blood and bile. The Pyro seemed especially giddy, while the Scout grumbled profanities. The BLU team glanced at each other, before looking at the other RED mercs standing guard.

"When are you gonna let us go?" the Bostonian inquired, trying to shift away from the arsonist, who was eagerly mopping his bandages by mistake as he vigorously cleaned the floor.

The Spy eyed him. "I told you, we n-"

"Then let me rephrase it then." The man scowled at being interrupted, but the brunette continued, "When will you untie us and let us stretch and shit? Just tie up our wrists, man, we're not gonna do anythin' stupid."

"Yeah. I'm not gonna carry him back to base even if we _did_ try something stupid."

"What happened to bein' my Prince Charmin'?"

"That's not actually in my job description."

"Go get Heavy. I guess they deserve a little stretching room after what Scout did." the French man hissed the last couple of words, glaring at the younger man, who raised his middle finger in retaliation.

Minutes passed as the two RED mercenaries cleaned, the Pyro seeming overly ecstatic as he started running around the room, happily singing to itself as it cleaned the rest of the floor. The RED Spy would sometimes chastise the Scout out of the blue in French, the younger man's responses coming out in heated hisses. The BLU duo watched the antics in silence, glancing to the door when the Engineer returned with the Heavy, the Texan holding onto two pairs of handcuffs. Without a word, the Russian walked to the back of the pillar and untied the ropes, the men immediately stretching their arms and cracking their necks in relief. Spy jumped to his feet and held out a hand for the Bostonian, who rolled his eyes before grabbing onto the man's arm, wincing at the stiff pain that flowed throughout his entire body.

"It's okay to bend my knee, right?" he questioned when he finally struggled to stand, teeth grinding.

"I'll go get the Doc after we get these cuffs on."

"Oh!" The men looked at the Bostonian in confusion at his sudden exclaim, looking at the RED Spy as he asked, "Would it be possible to punch your Scout in the face? Payback for stabbin' us."

"Fuck no!"

"Yes."

There was a pause, the RED Scout squinting at his team's Spy in confusion as he slowly rose to his feet, his brows furrowing in anger and disbelief. "What?!"

Without missing a beat, the BLU Scout pulled his fist back and slammed it against his counterpart's face, the other Scout falling to the floor and clutching his nose. He grinned in satisfaction, the Italian laughing as they allowed the Engineer to lock the cuffs onto their wrists. His counterpart hissed and swore, continuing to clutch his nose as the Spy helped him stand. The two conversed to each other in French, the younger man seething and anger spewing in his words, the older man calm in his responses as he led the man back up the stairs. The Pyro continued to gleefully twirl and dance with the mop as he circled the room, the BLU mercs stretching out their stiff and pained limbs, Scout being careful with his bandaged knee. He leaned on his teammate for the most part, the handcuffs holding a long enough chain for the taller man to hold onto his waist. He cocked an accusing eyebrow at the dark haired man, earning a cheeky grin in response.

The Engineer watched them with a discerning eye, before catching the Pyro's attention and leading him to the stairs after grabbing the discarded bucket and brush. The Russian stood in front of the door, arms crossed as he eyed the younger men taking short and staggered steps round the room, cracking their necks and complaining about how sore everything was.

Hours passed by and Scout had resorted to lying on the floor, injured leg lightly raised, but not enough to make it throb with even more pain. The way he had it was the least amount he'd experienced the entire day, he wasn't moving if it was necessary. The German advised not to bend it too much or straighten it out too much anyway unless he wanted to break the stitches. The doctor had a creepy smile.

Almost as creepy as their own doctor's smile.

Almost.

It was a good thing their doctor didn't smile often.

The people keeping watch over them switched over the hours. The Engineer had come back down with his guitar and was replaced by the Spy, who eyed them wearily. His focus always seemed to come back to the Scout, and the brunette tried his best to ignore it. It was quiet with the RED Spy. The Engineer's guitar playing was soothing and he tried to make small-talk despite the predicament. With the French man, Scout could swear he heard the dust particles moving around... until the Italian started humming to himself. He sounded awful, but it made him chuckle. He quietly sung along. He didn't know what his friend was humming, but he sung anyway.

At least it wasn't so quiet.

The last person to keep watch that day was the Demoman. He had a bottle of Scrumpy in hand, but sipped it idly as the moments ticked by. He looked and sounded exhausted, hunched over in his chair as he swayed the bottle in his hand.

"You okay there, Cyclops?" Spy questioned, as he finally sat down next to the Scout. "You're not the one being held hostage."

"Do ye have short term memory, lad?" the Scot grumbled, running his free hand over his face. "Our Sniper's dead, and, I donnae know how it is over at BLU, but..." he sighed and took a swig, staring down the Italian. "It's taken it's toll, especially on our Engineer. He's runnin' on steam, lads."

He paused and took another long drink, before slumping back against the wall and glancing at the ceiling. "Ye don't seem much shaken over yer Soldier's death."

Scout tensed, and rolled his head to look at the pillar he'd lied in front of. His throat became dry and his chest weighted as the images of the Australian man's corpse flashed through his mind, before it morphed into the Chinese man blowing up into divergent pieces, never to be stitched back together. The Sniper could have been him... The Sniper could have been him... Their Soldier was dead and _he_ could have died...

He could _still_ die.

His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth as tears pricked the corner of his eyes. He shut them tight and curled his fingers into tight fists. He was crying too much. He shouldn't have cried in the first place. He was so fucking stupid. All those times he boasted on the battlefield and respawn's shut off and he becomes a whiny, sniveling mess? Pathetic. So pathetic.

His eyes opened when Spy lightly ruffled his hair. "Doesn't mean we aren't, Cyclops."

The man humphed and Scout could hear him take another drink. There was another circulation of quiet. It wasn't as dreadfully quiet as it had been with the RED Spy, but it was still quiet. He could hear the Italian's soft breath. It was calming.

"Scruffy!" the RED Scout's voice jolted through the silence as he jumped down the last couple of steps into the room. The Bostonian didn't turn to look at his counterpart. "Eagle's freakin' the fuck out. Spy told me to come get you."

"What happened?"

"Someone mentioned Kangaroo and he just snapped."

There was no further conversation, just harsh footsteps and the door slamming shut, lock setting in place.

"You all right?"

He rolled his head to look up at his teammate, frowning. "You gonna ask me that every second of every day now?"

"Only if you want me to."

"Stop unless dyin' or somethin'." Scout took a deep breath and swallowed, trying to rid the dryness in his throat. "But... man... I just... I'll forget about why we're here. 'Bout what happened, ya know? Like I think we'll just be released tomorrow and fightin' with respawn on and full teams all around, like this was all just some kinda stupid bad dream."

He shut his eyes before propping himself up on his elbows, slowly turning himself so his back wasn't to the other man. Without a word he rested his head on Spy's shoulder. Only fair, right? "What about you, man? You doin' okay?"

"I've dealt with stuff like this before." there was a quiver in the otherwise smug tone. "And, before you fall asleep on my shoulder, let me show you something."

Scout opened his eyes and lifted his head as the Italian jumped to his feet, reaching out cuffed hands for the younger man to grab. Back on his feet, he limped as Spy ran to a wall behind the pillar, feeling around the seams in the wooden walls. The Bostonian's eyes widened as the Italian pulled down the middle of nearly the entire wall, a bed popping out of the alcove.

Spy grinned in satisfaction, pressing down on the mattress before clambering onto the bed. "What our luck, huh?"

Scout could only nod in response, the man hopping off the bed and helping the younger onto onto it, minding his knee. The brunette flopped onto the mattress. It wasn't exactly the definition of soft, but it was better than sleeping tied to a pillar or on the cold ground, even though he had just been lying on it for however many hours. He wormed his way up to the pillows, smushing his face into the one closest to him, before seething at how he bent his knee, which shot the pain up and back to his injured side, and flipped over to lie on his back.

His pained seethe quickly shot into a stare of confusion as the Spy looked at him. "What?"

"We should prop your knee up with something." he commented before glancing at his shackles. In the blink of an eye, one cuff was dangling loose, the man nonchalantly unbuttoning his suit.

Scout figured he looked like a fish for a good ten seconds, before blurting out, "W-What the hell was that?!"

The Italian looked up. "What the hell was what?"

"Your... Your cuffs! You-"

"Simple, really."

"B-"

"They're not built well. I've gotten out of tougher ones."

"You-"

"Shh, Princess." He smirked, folding his suit into a tidy rectangle of fabric. "Job description."

Scout continued to gape. "Without any tools?!"

Spy chuckled as he looked at the folded suit to the man's injured leg, before frowning. "This isn't heavy enough." he grumbled, before grabbing the pillow the brunette wasn't lying on and shoving it under the man's knee.

Scout pouted and pulled it away. "No."

"My suit's soft enough for a replacement pillow."

"I don't care."

"Well I don't care that you don't care." he snorted, clicking the loose cuff back onto his wrist.

He managed to convince the man to use the pillow for himself. He woke up with it under his knee and the RED Scout glaring down at them.


	9. Chapter 9

Sightless

The auburn-haired man glared at him for a fleeting moment before his eyes flicked to look at the Spy beside him, the freckled man turning rigid as his nostrils flared in anger, lips pursed in a tight line as he took harsh steps backwards to the door, and called for the RED Spy.

The Bostonian blinked in fear and confusion as he lifted himself into a sitting position, watching silently as his teammate slipped off the bed and stretched. Scout glanced at the pillow under his knee, wanting to berate his stupid dumbass friend, but decided against it as he heard the footsteps clamber down the stairs. The RED Spy stalked past his teammate, glancing briefly at the freckled man before taking a few steps closer to the BLU mercs.

The Bostonian's counterpart jumped forward and pointed at the Italian, "He-"

"I can see what he did, Scout." the French man dismissed his teammate and nodded at his BLU equivalent. "Show me."

From where he sat, the brunette couldn't see the Italian's expression as he scoffed, "Why? You know all the bells and whistles, I'm sure."

"That doesn't matter. Show me."

Spy grunted and turned himself to face the RED mercs, Scout inching himself off the bed as he watched. He still had no idea what just happened in the span of what seemed like less than a second, but Spy was standing there with one cuff dangling in the air.

The French man stared at him hard, cupping his chin between his index finger and thumb as he spoke, "You could have easily disengaged the lock on the door and left."

"I could have." Both Scouts looked at him in bewilderment, the brunette's fist clenching at his side.

The man squinted. "Why didn't you?"

Spy lifted his head and stepped towards the oldest, sneering. "Because enough shit's happened already, and we don't need you shoving lead into our base and faces."

The men stared each other down, Scout limping over. He snuck a glance at the freckled man, who was looking up at his Spy with fear dawning in his features, before he shot rapid fire questions in French. The masked man slowly turned to look at him, his body seeming to calm as he responded. Just as quickly as the fear set in on the RED Scout's face, it vanished and he was back to glaring at his adversaries.

"And what was the baguette club talking about?"

"That is none of your concern." the man scoffed before turning to the door. "This conversation is over. If they wanted to escape that badly, they would have done so, but they're not as dumb as they look."

The freckled man snickered as he followed his teammate, before turning to the BLU mercs. "I hope that shit scars, low-life!"

And then the door was shut, a hesitating moment before the lock clicked. Scout stared blankly at the door then watched as the Italian fit the loose cuff back onto his wrist. He looked at the handcuffs and found himself sneering.

"I'm bettin' you coulda wormed your way outta the damn rope, too."

Spy froze, eyes flickering to the brunette. He clicked his tongue after a pause, "No."

"Bullshit, man."

"Are you mad?" he looked back at his wrists as his words came out dry. "If I could have gotten us out of the rope, I would have done it when that shitstain pulled out that knife."

"No time sooner, huh?" Scout grumbled, stretching his arms far enough until the chain snapped in place. He glared at the chain before flopping onto the bed, hand over his eyes as the cuffs pinched into his cheeks and the iron link fell over his neck. "Couldn't just leave in the middle of the night? You like bein' tied up and stuck in a room, man?"

"Like I just told our captors, enough shit's happened already and I didn't want to start anymore by escaping." he sighed, footsteps echoing as he paced the room. "We still have a bomb we could push onto their base. They would have incentive to come after us if we left."

"Who's stoppin' the other guys from pushin' the bomb right now?" he questioned through grit teeth. "Do they even know we're here?"

"I wouldn't doubt the Spy sent them a message when he learned of our Soldier's death."

He sounded condescending, despite the seeming lack of it in his tone. It was his footsteps and the way he could hear the man stress the shackles. Scout grumbled a 'whatever' in response and lowered his hands to rest on his chest, frowning as he stared at the ceiling. His leg and side throbbed where they were stretching over the edge of the bed, but he ignored it for the time being. They could have escaped at generally any time, but Spy refused to. They could escape right then and there, but he refused to. They could leave and... he'd be hopping on the first train back home, playing with his stay-at-home brothers and waking up to the smell of fresh toast in the morning and comfortable. Maybe he'd pick up his old job at the newspaper stand. It wasn't very good pay and it got boring a lot but better a boring job than a war with no respawn.

His mind raced with the Sniper's corpse again and he shut his eyes so tight until he saw stars in his eyelids. His breath came out tight and quaking, fingers curling into his shirt.

"Hey, rookie." he mumbled. The steps of his comrade stopped. "Don't go dyin' on me or nothin', all right? You're the only friend I got who ain't one of my dumbass siblings."

He heard the other man chuckle, "I promise I'll only perish when I'm eighty-three and save you from a falling piano."

"Of course you make yourself a hero."

"Why wouldn't I? I am your Prince Charming after all, Princess."

Scout grinned and sat up, tightness in his chest gone. "You said it wasn't in your job description."

"Ah, it belongs on a different job description!" the man smiled, eyes shining brightly as he placed his hands beside Scout's legs, leaning close enough that he could feel the man's breath tickle his lips. "The one where I save your ass every single time."

"Too close there, Prince."

The man immediately backed away, shrugging. "Ah, I always fall for the wrong Princesses."

"I'm sure you'll find your one and only one day, dumbass." he snickered, before falling back down onto the bed. "But it won't be me, man."

"Shame too. You woulda made a nice catch."

"My Ma used ta say I'd be a nice catch." he laughed. "Now she just says I might get a girl with my looks."

"Ouch." the man snickered again. "Maybe I'd be better off with a Prince anyway."

"Man, you tryin' to hurt my feelings?"

"Possibly."

"Well I got seven older brothers, so tough luck tryin'." He grimaced as his leg finally screeched at him, the pain in his side burning as both injuries shot through his system like ice. He quickly dragged himself farther onto the bed, lightly propping up his knee. He felt the Italian sink on the edge of the mattress.

"How's your face, by the way?"

"Handsome. Cut stings a bit, but the bandage blocks it out by being itchy as all hell." with an angry huff, he quickly peeled the bandage off, Scout wincing at the sound. Spy turned, injury closed off and still healing, but bruised and red. "How's my face?"

"Looks like it's gonna scar, man."

He pounted and folded his arms. "Looks like that shitstain got his wish. I wish he got to keep that broken nose you gave him."

"I wouldn't doubt their Medic wanted him to keep it."

The men laughed softly, before the air filled with a serene calm. Until the Sniper's body flashed in his mind once more like rapid fire. His breath hitched and his chest squeezed. That could have been _him_. And their Soldier was dead. They were being held hostage by 8 men with weapons all around them. Only one of them had a slight fighting chance because he could slip out of his handcuffs. His stomach curdled and knotted in pain. Hunger and anxiety. Wonderful mix, really. He was better than this. Better than being a distraught man filled to the brim with panic and pain. He was better than this. Had to be better. He'd dealt with dead men before. He killed men for a living as it was. He'd dealt with a corpse without respawn, when his anger took the best of him. When his hands gripped tight around that man's neck after he'd pummelled him and wrestled him to the floor.

He'd dealt with dead people before.

He was better than a panic filled mess.

He closed his eyes tightly until he saw stars, breathing deeply until his heart stopped pounding in his head and his stomach left his throat.

"We could leave." he heard his voice filter out of his mouth, cracking.

"If the bomb wasn't there, I'd have already carried you out of here."

"...We could leave." he heard himself repeat.

He was better than this, goddammit. He had to be.

Spy didn't reply this time, Scout slowly easing the tension on his eyes, his face hurting. The stars still mingled. The lock on the door chimed and the door creaked as it opened. He didn't move until his teammate spoke.

"Miss Pauling?"

His eyes snapped open and he lifted himself so fast he thought he did a somersault. The woman stood in her familiar purple dress, hair in bun. She was covered in scratches and bruises. Spy was walking to meet her halfway where she stood, ready to question her until she talked before him.

"I'll explain the situation later. Right now we have to m-"

She stopped as the lights suddenly shut off. There was movement he could hear all the way past the door and up the stairs. He slowly slid off the bed, looking around in the darkness for the two people in the room. He couldn't see a thing.

"SOMETHIN'S MOVIN' THE BLOODY BOMB!"

He heard the Scotsman yell. His stomach knotted up and his chest tighted again in an instant. He barely heard the woman curse under her breath. She tried to yell, to say they had to move, to go, to leave _now_, but she was cut off yet again as the walls and floor beneath them cracked and blistered, the roar of the explosion drowning her out. He felt like he was flying even when his hands dragged feebly at the dirt below him and he felt something on top of his back.

His ears rang and something warm dripped down his face. His whole body pulsed with distress and he felt dizzy but he felt like he was flying. He couldn't remember how to move his legs. His eyes. His head. His legs. His arms. He could only move his fingers. His fingers were the only thing he remembered. He didn't even know if he was breathing. Nothing hurt. It just pulsed. His heart was everywhere.

He couldn't react as something cold grabbed him. He weakly clutched at the air as his arms hung limply. Past the ringing, he thought he heard someone scream.


	10. Chapter 10

Sightless

He couldn't remember much. Everything would just fade out; the pulsing, the ringing, clutching weakly to nothing. Gone. Just gone. And it would jump right back as if it had never left. He still wasn't sure if he was breathing. He could hear murmurings and creaking when he would fade back in. He still couldn't remember how to function anything other than his fingers. Pain was starting to set in and he faded out again.

The murmurings were louder. He could hear distinctions in the voice, but couldn't make out the words. His body was rigid and he could feel pinching across him. His forehead, his torso, his elbows, his knees, his ankles. Something was tight and pinching him. He wanted it gone. His arms and legs were stiff and straight, hands feeling glued to his sides. He clenched his fingers, curling them tight into the fabric of his pants.

The pain shot through him like rockets, his nerves and muscles twitching as the fire and ice collided and exploded and shattered and crawled through his skin and bones. His eyes shot open and he was greeted to a bright light that made him see red. His body tried to arch and curl and hide away from the pain, but he was pinched and pushed back down. His knee and side and head tore pulses throughout his body, spreading the pain like wildfire and electricity and shards of glass, his toes curling in his shoes and his fingers blistering through the fabric of his pants. His chest sealed as his lungs hammered into his ribs as his breaths came out sharp and quick and sharp. His heart stabbed as it bruised as it thrashed in his panic and pain and agony. His eyes darted, unable to move his head. He couldn't see where he was. Bright lights and black stars and red. All he saw. All he could hear was his racing heartbeat, his squeaks as he tried to call out in confusion and pain. Sweat rolled down his brow and his fingers flexed and he was shaking and tears pricked and fell and rolled down his cheeks.

He only managed to scream when something was clasped harshly over his mouth, but then it all faded back to nothing.

It was pitch black when he woke up. He was seated against cold walls, slumped over. His breaths rolled out shaking and harsh, his whole being quivering and pulsing. He felt so heavy. He whimpered pitifully, struggling to raise his weighted arms to hug himself. He didn't know where he was, he didn't know what happened, he didn't know what was going to happen, he felt numb and everything hurt and he couldn't see anything and he was so scared. At least he was free from the pinching restraints. That was good... right?

His body drummed. His heart and trembling breaths were the only things he could stand to hear. The only things he figured he would hear. But he would wake up, home, his Ma yelling at him to get his ass outta bed and get some pancakes. Or he would be at base, stupid dumbass Spy jumping on his bed and whacking him with a pillow. And he wouldn't be alone and confused and feeling so heavy that it hurt to keep his arms up.

He found himself crying.

Even after minutes of sitting in the dark, eyes open, he couldn't see anything. No outlines of the walls or furniture. Nothing. He was stuck in complete darkness, with nothing more to comfort him than his mewling and the pain surging in his aggravated injuries, that still felt merely numb.

He heard footsteps, but he didn't move. He was too scared to. They got closer. Echoed louder and louder until the stopped.

The voice that called to him was soft and tired. "Stringbean?"

Scout sniffed and looked up, blinking and frowning as he still saw nothing. He choked out a sob, cringing at how pitiful and weak he sounded, "H-Hardhat?"

"Yeah..." the man's words wobbled. "H... How are ya holdin' up?"

"Where are we?" he squeaked, ignoring the man's question. "H-How'd you know i-it was me? I... I can't see n-nothin'."

There was a long pause before the brunette heard the man openly cry, blubbering, "I... I did somethin' bad, Stringbean. And you... you... Dammit, I didn't want this..."

"Wh-What are you talking about?"

"Your eyes are gone." the Engineer blurted, voice quaking and cracking. "I did something r-real bad and now y-you're blind and the others... God, I don't know what's..."

The Texan's sobs faded from existence as the words sunk in. _Your eyes are gone_. Your eyes are gone.

His eyes were gone?

His eyes were gone.

_His eyes were gone._

"...my eyes are... gone...?" he whispered in disbelief. Then he repeated it. Louder. Louder. Louder. So loud he could only scream. Just a sound. Just a sound from the bottom of his guts into the air as he hunched over and clawed at his face. It didn't stop. His throat was sore and his lungs burned for air and he could feel it as his hands rested over his eyelids. He had no eyes. His eyes were gone. Engineer had sat next to him and held him and cried and whispered apologies over and over again and his voice was breaking and cracking. His eyes were gone. His eyes were gone and his teammate consoling him had something to do with it.

He shoved the shorter man aside and crawled away, flinching when his back bumped harshly against something. Tears streaked down his face and his stomach clenched and his chest hammered and his heart pounded and his head felt like an inferno and his body wouldn't stop shaking.

"Stringbean, I..."

"What d-did you do...?" his voice was hoarse and scratchy and came out as less than a whisper.

He gained no response from the other man.

"W... Why did you...?"

Silence.

"...my _eyes_...!"

"I... have to go... or it'll just get worse for you." Engineer finally mumbled after another pause, Scout flinching as the man stepped closer. "Before... Before I go... I have something for... to... cover your..." there was a heavy sigh and he felt the man kneel down. There was a shuffle of fabric before the man resumed. "I ain't asking you to forgive me. I never will ask you to forgive me. It's just... something... something to help..."

Scout swallowed, feeling on the ground for some way of escape. His fingers didn't search far, his whole body freezing as the man lightly tilted his head forward. He didn't know what he was expecting. He figured it would hurt. He grimaced, expecting pain.

Something soft wrapped around his head instead, covering his eyes and ears as the man tied a knot behind his head, before pushing the fabric behind the younger man's ears.

"...I hope it helps... somehow..." the Texan's voice wavered and he started to walk away. "I'm so sorry, Stringbean... This wasn't what I wanted."

There was the screech of a metal door closing shut.

"Wait!" he called out, trying to look in the direction he heard the man walking. "W... What happened t-to everyone else?"

There was a pause.

"I... left when you were all pushing the bomb before respawn was... shut off. I... don't know where the others are." the Texan mumbled under his breath.

Then the Bostonian was alone. His body felt heavier and his breathing fell out in haggard breaths and his stomach was lumped in his throat and his heart in his ears and all he had was his mind and it roamed and stretched and compressed and repeated and repeated he had no eyes he had no eyes he had no eyes _he had no eyes_. No no no it had to be a lie or... a dream. He couldn't not have eyes. He had to have eyes. He was just dreaming. Dreaming dreaming dreaming and he would wake up and his Ma and brothers would all be there and his Ma and brothers would all be there and they would all be there and he'd be safe and safe and safe and he'd be able to see em and he would see their smiles and their faces and he'd be able to see them.

He wanted to see them.

His mind and body continued to race and rampage and compress and knot and he found himself out of tears, just heaving as he hugged himself with his weighted arms and collapsed in a heap on the floor. It was just a nightmare... It just had to be a nightmare...

He didn't want to be lost.


End file.
